She said her prayers and went to bed, resolved to find out discreetly from the other servants what mysterious activities the master had committed during the night.
Except he looked so haggard the following day she decided she would rather remain in ignorance. His eyes brooded with secrets. Deep lines of fatigue drew his face into a forbidding mask.
Evidently the duke had exerted himself to the brink of physical exhaustion in some nocturnal mischief. If his dissolute appearance was the result of an assignation, Ivy doubted she would survive a love affair with the scoundrel.
Still, in her heart she believed that his ominous deportment had less to do with romance than it did with an issue infinitely more dangerous.
* * *
For the next four nights the disturbing pattern continued. Elora had left them before Ivy could ask her if she heard anything unusual after she retired. Ivy moved Mary and Walker to rooms across the hall and they slept fitfully from the moment she settled them into bed. The duke no longer appeared for evening prayers at all, and Ivy thought this was for the best.
He was short-tempered with the staff. He avoided Ivy. And when he walked through the house, an indelible darkness followed in his wake.
Even his appearance had changed in the past week. He’d lost weight and his elegant clothes hung on a chiseled frame that was strangely beautiful to behold. As far as Ivy could tell, he spent most of his daylight hours fencing, boxing, and in archery contests with Wendover and his two younger brothers, who were soon to join the navy. If Ivy hadn’t known better, she would have sworn the duke was preparing for battle himself
Finally, on the fifth night, as she waited at her window for his return, he slid off his horse, and for once, his attendants weren’t quick enough to catch him.
She raced from her room, not caring whether the stupid man was in league with the devil, a smuggling ring, or Wellington’s spies. He was clearly engaged in some activity that put his safety at risk, and it must be stopped.
She needn’t have worried about anyone noticing her. The house was in an uproar when she descended to the first floor. She shrank back as Wendover and the gamekeeper helped the duke up the stairs.
“I am capable of walking myself,” he snapped.
He looked dreadful, pale, his cloak hanging at an odd angle from his neck like a broken wing. He leaned heavily against the balustrade, and it seemed that the flock of servants below held their collective breath until he turned his head and shouted, “Go!”
Carstairs ordered two footmen to fetch His Grace’s physician. Wendover and the gamekeeper remained behind the duke in the likely event that he would miss a step and fall.
Ivy was grateful the children had gone to bed.
She knew that she must discover the duke’s secret. And she would do so tonight.
Chapter 22
“I warned Your Grace,” the physician said to James, who lay reluctantly in his bed with every Tom, Dick, and Harry at his side. “If you continue to strain your muscular organs, they will dilate and weaken beyond what your blood supply will be able to repair.”
James grunted. “And that’s why you just removed a bucket of my blood, is it?” He ground his teeth as the dark-coated figure applied another steaming cloth to his arm, blistering his skin.
“The wet heat brings comfort,” the physician said with a sigh. “I encouraged light activity, as I recall.”
“Well, I can’t weave a shawl to save my life. I haven’t the dexterity to play marbles with the children. It takes me a half an hour to bait a fishing rod.”
“Read a book. Soak in a hot tub.”
“Can I challenge a man to a duel to see who finishes his book first before his bathwater turns cold?”
“A duel?” Dr. Buchan peeled off the cooling cloth and applied a thick coating of green ointment to James’s skin.
“Yes. I can punch a hole in a wall. I can lift this bed. But I can’t pull a trigger or hold the gun steadily enough to blast the door behind you.”
“Perhaps you should start practicing with your other side.”
“Brilliant. Do you think I’ll be able to compete with an expert duelist in a fortnight?”
The physician gave a rude snort. “No.”
James swore. “Neither do I. Isn’t there another surgery you can do?”
“Not in a fortnight. Not ever, I’m afraid. You’re a lucky devil to have survived the first without developing gangrene. No doubt you still have bone chips and bullet fragments that are causing you distress. Whoever splintered you did an excellent job. I might chance severing the adhesions with a fine scalpel, but there’s a risk of damaging your muscles and atrophy.”
“What was your field of expertise in Antwerp?”
“Obstetric physician.”
“Great God.”
“I am leaving you with a tincture of morphia for the night.”
“Take everyone with you.”
James closed his eyes. The door opened and shut. “I am not taking that swill,” he said between his teeth. “I was addicted to it for six months.” He sat up as he heard the door of his dressing closet swing open.
“Whatever you have forgotten, sir, take it quickly or I shall growl at you.”
“Growl at me all you like.” He opened his eyes and saw Ivy beside his bed.
“What are you doing here? Gloating?”
She stared down at him, shaking her head in dismay. “No. You can’t believe for a moment that I enjoy your suffering.”
He lay on the bed with his shirt undone. He just realized that if she had been sitting in his dressing room, she had heard his conversation with the physician. “I thought you weren’t going to come near me again.”
“Not unless you are at death’s door,” she said quietly, looking at the bandage, pair of scissors, and bottle of medicine on the table beside his bed. “Are you?”
He sat up, cursing under his breath. “As a matter of fact, I am. I’m fatal. Have you come to give me comfort?”
She didn’t move.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
She sat down beside him. “I heard every word.”
“Good. Then you know that I need you and I’m not willing to let anyone else take you from me.”
“Are you practicing every night in preparation to fight a duel? Over me?”
“That’s right.”
“Then it all makes sense now, the midnight gallivanting and shooting in the fields. Why by day you were short-tempered, like a man who expects an enemy to attack from out of nowhere. You gave Walker nightmares.”
“I thought it would be worse if I came home in the afternoon looking like a corpse.” He reached for the bandage on the table beside the bed and wiped the ointment that the physician had plastered on his arm.
“My father died in a duel, James. It is a male ritual that I will always associate with death and unhappiness.”
“I wish I could go back in time and prevent your father’s death. Perhaps he felt he didn’t have a choice but to stand up for himself. I’m sure he didn’t intend to hurt you and your sisters. The best I can do now is promise to protect you.”
She sighed. “Men and their honor.”
“Will you stay the night with me?”
“Yes,” she said, without even pretending to hesitate.
He pulled off his shirt and with difficulty unfastened his trousers. “I don’t think I’ll die tonight, but if I do, I’ll be a contented man with you at my side.”
* * *
Ivy knew perfectly well the duke was an uninhibited man. A sexually practiced man. A completely naked man who had undressed her and tossed their clothes between the bed’s posters before she could hang them over a chair.
They rose together and faced off without a stitch, studying each other’s nude bodies in ardent silence. He was masculine to the
marrow. How well made were the wide shoulders and arms that she knew from the day of her accident to be capable and protective. Indeed, she felt more faint now at the thought of belonging to him, of touching the heavy member between his legs that proved he wasn’t anywhere near death’s door.
“I could stare at you all night, Ivy,” he said, his dark eyes traveling over her with a heat that penetrated the secret places of her body.
She clasped her hands together. “I could say the same of you, but I’d have to sit down to do so. The nearness of you in such a state overwhelms me.”
“I haven’t even touched you yet,” he said with a confident smile, and stepped forward.
“James,” she said, staring past him, “don’t you think we should pick up our clothing from the middle of the floor?” Not that she could move when she was melting from the inside out. Her female soul was ready to submit.
“Why bother?” he asked in amusement.
“What if someone opens the door? It looks—I don’t know. It looks untidy, disorderly.”
“Sex is untidy and we shall shortly become so disorderly that it won’t matter where you put your shoes.”
“Oh.” A wave of light-headness overcame her. His words flooded her with anticipation. He was the first man, the only one, she would ever love and want. She’d learned that he was an honorable man who cared for his wards. She knew he was highly sexual and to please him challenged her innocent upbringing.
As further evidence of his vitality, he walked her against the bed, framed her face in one hand, and kissed her deeply. His other hand found her breasts, his fingers twisting her nipples until her blood sang in her veins. She was mad for this duke who had taken up midnight training to fight for her.
She would forbid him to do so and divert him by indulging his every other desire. Although it seemed he would not hesitate to take what he needed from her without asking.
“Ivy,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
As if she would run out into the hall completely unclad.
“Wait,” he said unnecessarily, backing away from her with another dark smile that promised her obedience would be rewarded.
He extinguished the candles burning in the wrought-iron wall sconces. She stood for endless moments, enveloped in smoky darkness. The moment she dared to turn, a pair of sinewy arms hoisted her into the air and deposited her on the bed.
She waited, breathless, searching his face and finding within its shadows a reassuring warmth and indication of wicked intentions. “No games this time,” he said. “No boundaries.”
His body hovered over hers. “You cheated before.”
“I know. I couldn’t help myself.”
“You’re deplorable.”
“Am I, darling?”
“At times.”
“At this moment? Am I deplorable or am I deluded? Did you not seek my bed of your own will?”
“You know I did. I think you know I love you.”
“I think you know that I want to marry you.”
“How would I know that?”
“I didn’t steal kisses from you at the masquerade ball. You stole my heart.”
“And you’ve only realized now it was missing?”
He reflected on this for several moments. “The world is full of heartless men. Few of them are given a chance to have their hearts returned and allowed to feel happiness again.”
His lips met hers. His fingers stole down her throat to her belly. She started to shiver, to feel her hips lift against him. “I thought you were supposed to rest.”
“My arm. I should have been resting my right arm. If you’re going to eavesdrop, at least listen attentively.”
A doubt entered her mind and swiftly exited as he began to scatter kisses everywhere he possibly could. From one corner of her mouth to the other. To her throat, her breasts, and in between her ribs until he paused. She raised her head. His face had disappeared.
“James. You’re not . . .”
He was. He slid his hand under her buttocks and gave her a good push that brought her into the middle of the bed, spreading her legs apart as he did. He licked between her folds and at the pearl of her cleft. She subdued the urge to sob. This was an act that should only be performed in darkness. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but she could feel every lap of his tongue to her core.
“James.”
He didn’t respond, too intent on caressing her belly and teasing the hollow of her womanhood with his mouth. She felt his fingers replace his tongue, working deeper, stretching her pliant flesh. The more he gave her, the more she needed. Her nerves knotted. She couldn’t stay still. Her body demanded relief and she was past caring how disgraceful she looked.
He rose up again and lowered his lips to her breast. His fingers sank deeper into her sheath as he sucked hard at her nipple. She felt his erect penis against her stomach. That was what she wanted. “Oh, please,” she whispered. “What have you done to me?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Then . . . do it.”
He laughed softly. “I’ll take my sweet time. You aren’t in bed with a schoolboy.”
“I never imagined for a moment that I was.”
“Do you know how beautiful you look right now?”
He pushed her legs farther apart, exposing her damp curls and the crease below. He shifted and positioned his shaft at the entrance of her body. She gasped at the contact.
“Keep breathing, Ivy,” he said. “Put your legs around my back. It might hurt a little.”
“Only a little?”
“I’ll do my best,” he said in a thick voice.
“I trust you, James.”
“Remember you said that.”
She made out the angular shape of his face in the darkness, the width of his shoulders. Take me, she thought. I don’t care how much it hurts.
* * *
She was both a goddess and place of worship. And he was as dedicated to pleasing her now as he was to protecting her when they stepped outside this room. Twice she attempted to clench her thighs together. Calmly he pressed her legs apart, braced himself over her, and concentrated on sliding his shaft between the engorged seams of her sex. A slow torture for now.
He was on fire, imagining the moment when he would sink his cock into her heat. Not all at once. She was still quivering, his beautiful virgin. Stretching her took restraint. Readying her for the moment required that he wait and let her pleasure build. She raised her hand as if she wanted to touch him. The gesture inflamed him. He flexed his back instinctively.
“May I?” she whispered.
“I beg you,” he said in a hoarse voice. He felt so hot. Could he wait? Her hand strayed over his chest, finding the demarcations of his ribs, his abdomen. A woman’s touch had never thrilled him and left him aching like this. He was the only man she would ever know.
He pressed another inch inside her, his penis throbbing, his blood smoldering. She moaned and shifted, restless, and he leaned lower to kiss her, his aggression mounting.
“I can’t stop now, Ivy.”
“It’s all right. I want this, James.”
He withdrew slightly, his prick coated in her moisture, and thrust inside her harder this time. Her eyes widened, and he felt her inner muscles close around him, forcing him to drive in farther to breach her maidenhead.
“Ivy,” he said on a moan like a man with a fever.
He slid his hand between their joined bodies and rubbed her nub. He felt her shiver helplessly. Her legs tightened around his hips. She cried out something he could not understand. Blood roared in his head.
Then she arched and lifted upward with a desperation that pushed him to the edge. His elemental side took charge. He grasped her arse in one hand and embedded himself inside her fully. She gave a soft cry, and for a moment she didn’t move. But it was don
e. She was his. There would be time for tenderness later. For now he surged into her again and again, aware that she had climaxed, her body shuddering beneath his.
And still he wanted, needed more. He’d waited so long for her that he was almost afraid what would happen when he finally let go of his control. Nothing but instinct. Nothing but her.
He gave himself to pure sensation and wondered for a moment if he would die from the intensity. He found release in their fierce mating and attempted not to crush her beneath his weight as he collapsed. He thought he would come forever. His heart pounded erratically in his chest. He was stricken with a gratitude he could not express, a concern that made him fear his unbridled desire might have been more than she’d expected. It was more than he had hoped for. If ever a woman had been worth waiting for, it was her.
“How do you feel?” he whispered, kissing her softly on her shoulder.
She rolled up against him. “Wonderful. Broken. Worldly. What about you?”
“I think love has given me a fever,” he mused. “You are indeed a woman of the world.”
She sat up and placed her fingers against his forehead. “And you are warm.”
He laughed. “Aren’t you, after what we just did?”
She didn’t answer, but through his half-closed eyes he noticed her gaze travel the length of his nude body. Her interest gave him another erection, which he intended to put to good use after he rested for a moment. He turned onto his right side, smothering a groan.
“What is it?” she asked in alarm. “Are you in pain? Did we do something we weren’t supposed to?”
“Damn me.” He laughed again, drawing a deep breath. “You’re already acting like my wife.”
“Open your mouth, James.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What for?”
“Let me give you a dose of that medicine.”
He looked at her with gratitude and perhaps envy. Here this goddess sat with her steady hands and voluptuous body sticking in his mouth a brimming spoonful of the soporific before he could seize the moment.
Forbidden to Love the Duke Page 18